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Much more temperate; the discreet and joyless love of a virtuous, reluctant, condescending wife. I know that in my heart I would take whatever he gave. Melusine turned and turned, unable to imagine just where the secret door could be. And you have stolen my dagger. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy.
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